


Another Ideology

by Jazzily



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, New Years, Royal Spoilers, Someone's got anger issues, Third Semester (Persona 5), Yearning, a cynical describes love, and pain, coffee so much coffee, homoromantic subtext, not only anger btw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:47:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28466295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jazzily/pseuds/Jazzily
Summary: A month ago he wouldn’t have expected this to be his after life. Waking up from the dead, only to be thrown into the weirdest reality all alone, with only himself to count on to put the pieces back together.He blinks. Is this a purgatory?Or: Goro Akechi notices changes in reality that shouldn't be there and the first thing he does is break into Leblanc to speak with a certain someone.
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Amamiya Ren, Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Comments: 16
Kudos: 149





	Another Ideology

**Author's Note:**

> Happy New Year everyone!
> 
> This was supposed to be lighter and shorter than it is but here we are! Hope the first day of the year will treat you better than whatever Akechi's been through <3

_ What the fuck, _ he wants to say to the two officers guiding him towards the exit of the police station. Instead, he just thinks it really hard in the hopes that they will understand him without a word.

They don’t.

Goro Akechi, the detective prince, was seated in a stern interrogation room, confessing to murders and to being the true culprit behind the mental shutdowns merely minutes ago. The other detectives facing him were listening to him intently, furrowing their eyebrows in both focus and disbelief. He had dropped the pleasant act the second he entered the room, cutting straight to the chase, like a knife thrown to a shadow. He summarized the context, what they needed to know before his confession, and made sure they weren’t too confused by his statements. He then proceeded to admit to everything.

It had been quite easier than expected. He thought he would feel a burdening shame, he thought the precious boy mask would slip back in any second into the interrogation but nothing happened. In fact, he managed to dissociate himself just enough to describe what went down as if he were an innocent bystander. He figured that spending the rest of his life in prison would make for a better future than getting killed by Masayoshi Shido, of all people. He would rather live in misery than give him the pleasure of dying by his hand.

Once the clock hanging behind the men struck midnight, they immediately fell silent, like scheduled robots. They blinked, once, twice. Their sudden quietude interrupted his monologue, so Akechi stopped and blinked back. They then broke in a fit of joyous laughter, patting him in the back and shooing him out of the room. Which is what begged the question “ _ What the fuck _ ” in the first place.

How is that even possible, how is that allowed? How did they think, for  _ one second,  _ that the best course of action would be to let a murderer run on the loose after hearing his confession? 

It's the first day of the year, and something already feels off. So terribly off. Looking at his surroundings, nothing in particular seems to have changed. Phone calls are taken and declined, some idle chatter between co-workers buzzes in the casual atmosphere of the precinct. Warm lights shine from outside, crowds and crowds of people make their way through the city in celebration.

But something’s shifted at midnight precisely. He’s sure of it.

He stops merely a few steps away from the door and turns to the detectives that were in charge of him.

“If you don’t mind me asking, I would like to speak to Sae-san,” he requests politely. He figures that, if they released him after a murder confession, they wouldn’t mind doing him this one favor.

They glance at each other before replying.

“You probably weren’t there when she told everyone, huh.”

Probably not considering that these last few days he’s either been dead or in jail.

“She’s celebrating the New Year with her family,” the other officer says, like he hadn’t just blurted out the most ridiculous lie.

Sae Niijima? Celebrating? Taking a day off, or even an evening? Please. He won’t fall for that.

“Family?” He finds himself asking.

“Well, yes. Her father and little sister.”

Her father?

Her father.

...Sae-san doesn’t have a father, does she?

First, they make him a free man, second, they pretend that Sae is not one to spend every day of her life working and now, they act as if she had a family to go home to and a man to call “father”?

They have a surprisingly twisted sense of humor.

“Her father isn’t usually free to spend too much time with them but he managed to take the day off. Isn’t that great, Akechi-kun?”

The candid expression both men wear tips Akechi off. He might be reaching but… he thinks they believe it. They believe it. They’re actually believing the absolute comical nonsense they’re spouting out.

Incredible.

“It is. I am happy for them,” he settles on responding quietly. It wouldn’t hurt to play their game for the time being, seeing how utterly confused and intrigued he is by their conversation. “Well, gentlemen, it was nice speaking with you.”

“Take care, Akechi-kun. Happy new year!”

His colleague wishes him a happy new year as well before they part ways.

The walk back home is one inherently troublesome one. He isn’t one to mind the crowd, to listen in on unimportant conversations, not one to notice what he doesn’t want to think about in the first place. Yet, with each step he takes, his eyes scan the vicinity, stopping at every person’s face, his ears analyze at least three conversations at any given time. He wouldn’t know how to explain why. 

_ Something is off  _ is the only thought that his mind can bear processing. He cannot think of anything else, so he chooses to not fight it and goes along with it, looking for evidence that, in fact, something happened at midnight of this new day.

And soon enough, he notices one.

“We should go eat at Big Bang Burger!” The voice of a woman exclaims beside him, talking to who he supposes is her partner.

He studies the couple from the corner of the eye. The familiar name had immediately caught his attention.

“Oh speaking of that, have you watched Okumura’s conference last week?” 

“No, what’d he say?”

He cannot bring himself to eavesdrop any longer as he stops in his tracks, the couple going on ahead, ignoring him and his very evident existential crisis. Their conversation fades out but he couldn’t care less.

Okumura held a conference last week? Did he, now?

First The Niijimas’ father, and now... Kunikazu Okumura.

He grabs his phone from his pocket, checking in half a second that it was, in fact, the first of january and not sometime in fall, or anytime before Okumura’s murder. 

He looks for more information on him online and soon enough, his death’s date has been replaced by a simple empty space, implying that he is very much alive. Implying that he’s never died. What the fuck.

Some videos of the conference the couple was talking about are suggested to him in his feed. He feels sick.

He mercilessly shot this man in the head, he saw him die in a live conference, cough up blood and suffer through a shutdown that was  _ his doing _ . His painful screams and dead white eyes still haunt him every time he closes his eyes. He couldn’t have survived  _ that _ . His funeral had been broadcasted for fuck’s sake.

Only  _ one _ person survived Akechi’s murder attempt, and that person isn’t Kunikazu Okumura.

That person, if nothing else has truly changed, must be in a pathetic attic somewhere in Yongen-Jaya.

Screw going home, Akechi needs answers.

* * *

Breaking into Leblanc is surprisingly easy.

He wonders if he should notify the owner, but then again, who would want to forcefully enter a miserable coffee shop hidden in a back alley of some empty street?

Him, he supposes.

The small window that he thought was just a decoration turned out to be a real one that thankfully wasn’t locked. He quickly managed to open it and jump swiftly inside, making sure to not make any noise nor break anything in the process. We wouldn’t want to alarm the stupid cat now, would we?

On his way to Leblanc, he noticed two very disturbing things, both involving the phone he is using right now to make his way to the stairs leading to the attic.

One, his text history disappeared. At least the ones he shared with the phantom thieves, along with their group chat. It would be one thing to be removed from it, considering they knew he was both a traitor and dead, but it’s another thing to not find any old messages, from anyone else except Kurusu and Sae-san’s. Not even Shido’s. The last two years he’s lived through revolved around him and him only. To not even have a mere trace, a speck of proof of what happened almost made him throw his phone on the pavement and crush it under his heel.

He was actually about to do just that, but the second detail he noticed is what stopped him.

Two, the Nav App. It’s back.

It wasn’t there on Christmas Eve. He is convinced that the app had disappeared by then. He doesn’t know what transpired in his absence, but two things are for sure: the Phantom Thieves were involved, and the  _ fucking _ app wasn’t there anymore. He checked. Again and again, he woke up from what can’t be seemingly called anything else but  _ death _ and the first thing he wanted to do was go back to the Metaverse, to Shido’s Palace, to Mementos,  _ whatever _ . Go back somewhere.

But the app was gone.

Now? Not so much.

Not only did it turn up like a bad penny, but the icon changed, too. It’s not red and black anymore. No, this time it’s white, sickeningly white. A few pixels on his screen were enough to share just how clinically and disgustingly white the new color is.

That, in and of itself should have been reason enough to proceed and destroy his phone on the ground. But Akechi has never been one to completely ignore his problems. If anything, it made him curious. So he slowly hid his phone in his pocket and carried on without a word.

The fact that only Joker’s chat logs have been left intact, just the way he remembers them, comforts him in the idea that what he’s doing is right. Not legally speaking because, clearly this is breaking and entering, which would send him back to jail immediately if someone decided to file a complaint against him.

But he knows Joker won't. He wouldn't refuse him. And if Morgana dares to, he’ll manage to shut him up just fine.

Climbing the stairs silently is a hassle, almost impossible, even. The floor is tricky, every step he takes threatens an unpleasant squeak. This place truly is trash. Some would call it homely but they’re kidding themselves.

This isn’t homely, this is hell. A very specific type of hell made just for quiet people who want to do as they please at two in the morning.

His own kind of hell. How fitting that it just so happens to be his rival’s home.

Once upstairs, he stiffens a cough. He can barely see anything except the next few inches in front of him thanks to the dim light of his phone, but he can already tell just how dusty the room is. Much more than how he remembered it. Didn’t he take care of his own room during this month?

Joker seems to be the type to call “cleaning” relaxing. Did he not relax? For a whole  _ month _ ? He finds that quite hard to believe, knowing that he is the most carefree man who’s ever had the nerves to cross his path. He must have found something more amusing and soothing to do than chores.

Yes, that must be it. It’s not like it’s something hard to find anyways.

His throat threatening to spit out whatever dust he’s inhaled, he brings a gloved hand to his lips and makes his way towards the bed. Which can barely be called a bed, to be completely honest. From what he’s seen, it’s just milk crates supporting an old and thin mattress. No wonder Kurusu slouches the way he does every day. He wouldn’t put it past him to have irreversible back problems by the age of twenty.

He leans over the peaceful sleeping figure, wondering for a moment how he manages to catch any rest on this sorry excuse of a bed. Right before raising his arm to tap him gently on the shoulder, he has the time to feel a wave of disappointment wash over him.

He’d expected Joker, _ the leader of the Phantom Thieves _ , to notice an intruder in his own home. To think he wouldn't have jolted awake simply thanks to Akechi’s breathing is a bit surprising.

It doesn’t matter. It worked in his favor, didn’t it? It’s only yet another point where he bested him. He might use it to rub it in his face, later on. It would be a sight for sore eyes to witness his incredulous face when Akechi will tell him just how long he’s been in Leblanc before Joker woke up. A lie or two wouldn’t hurt either.

His fingers are so close to brushing him when he stops in his tracks as if he had been electrocuted. The shock is similar enough. The screen of his phone accidentally shone over the man’s face and it is anything but Kurusu’s. It’s rounder, softer and paler. The hair falling on his forehead is shorter, straight and well kept. No hint of even one stray curl. His eyelashes are way too short, if Akechi squints his eyes, he could even discern faint freckles.

In short, he recognizes this man and he is definitely not Joker. He takes a step back.

Does Joker not live here anymore? Let’s think.

Today is the first day of the year, yes? It’s January, far from the end of the school year. So moving to his hometown is not a plausible possibility. In jail again? He wouldn’t be surprised if he ended up getting arrested once more, with how loud his little brigade of friends is about being the Phantom Thieves. But he would have known if that were the case. He’s been thoroughly scrolling through news articles on his phone for the past two hours, and not a single one has mentioned them.

As far as he's seen, there are no traces of fighting. The man in Joker’s bed right now is far too harmless to have fought him over two milk crates and a bedsheet. He doesn’t seem too clever to do that though. Only inoffensive enough.

So the only thing that could explain this, is that reality has been rewritten to the point where Joker doesn’t live in Leblanc anymore. He hopes it isn’t the case, especially with how unchanged their texts remain. Though it is not a far fetched thought. People have been brought back to life, others have been completely redeemed, he has apparently never came in contact  _ once  _ with his fucking father. One measly detail such as Kurusu’s address shouldn’t be what disturbs him the most.

It somehow is.

A month ago he wouldn’t have expected this to be his after life. Waking up from the dead, only to be thrown into the weirdest reality all alone, with only himself to count on to put the pieces back together.

He blinks. Is this a purgatory?

“Akechi?” He hears a hissed whisper from behind him. He whirls around, shoving his makeshift flashlight into the person’s face. He immediately drops his hand down once he recognizes him.

Joker.

He hadn’t realized he was holding his breath until he sighed in relief. So much for feeling disappointed in him. He should have known his rival never disappoints.

He eyes him up and down. Messy hair, confused tilted face, loose pajamas over him and holding a fairly wide bucket in his arms in a fighting stance. Akechi can’t help the chuckle that leaves his lips.

“You think that  _ that _ would do the trick? Please.” 

He quietly puts his weapon on the floor, and slides closer to him. He turns his head towards his occupied bed, Akechi follows.

“Who is that?” Akechi mutters. Kurusu simply shakes his head in ignorance, adding in a shrug of his shoulders. He observes him a bit more. He thinks he’s heard Takamaki mention how attractive he is.

“...Where is Mona?” He asks instead. Kurusu replies again in the exact same gesture, still studying the young man snoring lightly.

Isn’t Mona all over Takamaki?

Then it dawns on him.

He faces Joker who meets his eyes a second later. Oddly enough, he seems to have understood before Akechi had said anything.

“Kurusu, can you tell me  _ why  _ your cat became a famous actor?”

* * *

Turns out Kurusu cannot, in fact, tell him why his cat turned into a famous actor. He rather smiled sheepishly and went down the stairs, inviting him to do the same. Akechi scoffed but did as told.

The clock is slowly ticking towards three in the morning as Kurusu pours them both a cup of coffee. He didn’t expect him to change into an actual outfit, but when he emerged from the bathroom with a turtleneck and boots, he figured it wouldn’t feel very comfortable to be stuck in pajamas on a freezing January night. The last thing he needs would be a sick rival.

Akechi brings his hands towards the cup that just got served to him, letting the heat radiating from the drink warm up his fingers through the gloves. Joker doesn’t move from his barista spot nor does he take off his apron. He settles on standing up a counter away, right in front of him. He doesn’t touch his coffee.

“Something is going on.” He says, to which Joker nods solemnly. If he didn’t know just how quiet and passive he looks, he would have thought he was mocking him. “And it started today at midnight  _ precisely _ .”

Joker blinks twice, waiting for him to elaborate. And so he does.

He explains what happened to him tonight, the officers’ absolutely ridiculous behavior, Sae-san’s sudden gain of a parent along with Okumura’s revival, the mysterious disappearance of some chat logs that he can demonstrate to him by handing him his phone. He would normally never do such a thing, if someone wished to take a look at his phone it'd be over his dead body. But he's a dead man now, so what's the point?

Joker decides to take his phone out too, and goes through it with a focused frown. His eyebrows furrow and his lips pout as the reflection of the screen on his glasses scrolls rapidly. One counter away. He’s only one counter away.

He could, hypothetically speaking, reach out to him. He could push the chair he’s sitting on, make it scrape against the wooden floor, he could. He could get up and lean on the counter. He could, like a shot, yank him by his apron, make him forget about his phone, about the immense trouble they’re in right now. Akechi could use a good spell, too. Just the thought of their lips crashing together, with him leading and Joker looking taken aback by the sheer force of Akechi’s pull, fills him with a thrill and nostalgia all at once. It’s all so overwhelming. 

He can only imagine. This wouldn’t be the first time both of them stored their problems away, hidden in each other’s arms, it wouldn’t be the first time they’d decide to screw everyone else and lock themselves in this cocoon of violent comfort. Akechi needs it as much as a traveller in a desert desperately looking for a puddle of water. He’s sure Joker needs it too. They wouldn’t refuse each other, they never would.

One counter away. A weak plank of wood is the only obstacle resting in between them. Akechi could. He could.

Hypothetically speaking, of course.

He sips his coffee without a word.

He lets it run down his throat, burning its way through his stomach as he peers at Joker again. Their eyes meet, he’s no longer paying attention to his phone. He’s wearing the same look he wore when they parted ways to go home, back when they met for darts when really, it wasn’t for darts. Back when his hair was messier, his cheeks flushed and his clothes rumpled after their little... outings. Back when Akechi forgot to sometimes return his glasses to him, or back when he took them on purpose to make him come back and call his name one last time for the day.

He doesn’t dare break the silence and waits patiently for his rival to do so instead. The air is so heavy, to the point where Akechi wonders how he’s still able to breathe. He wonders if he’s even breathing, if any of them is breathing. Time stays still as they’re forever stuck in this liminal space so early in the morning. All alone. Alone against the world. Sharing a drink together at Leblanc reminds him too much of those evenings they spent at Jazz Jin.

Who would have thought the most vulnerable he’d feel would be in a miserable coffee shop, inches away from a four-eyed moron at three in the morning?

Joker clears his throat and pushes his cup gently to the side, completely forgotten. He leans on the counter, just how Akechi wanted to a minute ago. Or an hour ago. He doesn’t want to take a look at the clock to check, doing so would mean tearing his gaze away from Joker’s. And why on earth would he do such a thing? His rival gets closer, if possible, looking like he’s going to let him in on an important confidence. So naturally, Akechi draws near too. He wouldn’t want to miss whatever words flow out of his mouth.

“I had a dream, tonight,” he whispers as if he was spilling out a state secret. Akechi doesn’t say anything, he simply raises an eyebrow, intrigued. They’re in the middle of a serious and disorienting situation, to say the least. If Joker mentions his good night’s sleep, then surely it has something to do with it.

That or it’s one of his terrible pick-up lines. Akechi is quite familiar with those and he wouldn’t be as surprised as he should be if it turns out to be one. He decides to wait for him to carry on rather than immediately switch his interested look for a glare.

“I’m not going to describe everything, but it mostly focused on everyone’s wishes.”

He perks up at the last word. Joker continues by briefly listing the Phantom Thieves’ desires. 

Akechi should have known that by “everyone” he really meant his little troup of friends. They’re his whole world, after all. Takamaki and Suzui-san, Sakamoto and his stupid track team, Niijima and her longing for being a helpful contribution to society. He can’t help the twinge of disappointment he feels as he wants to learn more about Sae-san’s family, or his own case. It now seems like a harder task. Though Haru Okumura’s wishes do match with her father’s revival.

“Do you often have these kinds of dreams, Kurusu?” He asks with a hint of sour sarcasm that doesn’t want to leave his voice, despite his best efforts.

“Sometimes. I did have a lot more of those before I shot God in the face.”

He snorts. That was unexpected. Yet, he has to say that, of all the things he’s lived through, dreams involving the Metaverse are the least incredible things he’s possibly heard of. Joker breaks into a smile as well, shifting in his position and lowering his head. He wonders if the apron isn’t restricting him too much.

“So, you think this one is linked to whatever is happening around us?” He suggests.

“How else would you explain Mona becoming human?”

“That’s fair.”

The scent of coffee floods his senses with a powerful warmth and sweetness, he might grow addicted. Somehow, with each sip he takes, he feels more and more tired, his limbs becoming lazier by the second. He finds it hard to even move his arms, his cup gaining more and more weight every time Akechi empties it a little.

He wonders how Joker would react if he took all the strength he had in him to just raise his fingers and take his glasses off. Would he back away in surprise? Would he stop him by grabbing his hand? Would he let him?

Joker doesn’t seem to have anything more to say, his eyes are roaming around the narrow space between them, sometimes lingering on Akechi, sometimes lingering on the coffee. He’s not used to having the barista’s sole attention directed on him.

He would always be busy with chores during his shifts, cleaning utensils and mopping the ground with a crisp focus on small places he could have forgotten to go over. Either that or joking around with his teammates, laughing discreetly at Sakamoto’s unfunny comments, teasing Futaba before she lists at least ten different ways she could blackmail him, gossiping with Takamaki. The only time he could have Joker’s eyes resolutely glued to his would be anywhere but at Leblanc.

His lips curl up in a drowsy smile, he can feel his eyes squint with the movement.

“So I suppose the only reason why I’ve been released without questioning is because that was my wish, correct?”

Kurusu studies his face with great concentration, as if he was trying to find a hint, a trap, some type of foreshadowing of what Akechi might say next. His gaze loiters on his cheeks, lips, nose, eyes. It’s restless, desperately trying to dig up answers from his expression, to try and guess  _ why _ Akechi sounded like that. He can stare all he wants, he won’t find any answer.

Finally, after an eternity of assessing him like an enemy —which, granted, he is- and tickling him with every exhale of his —he hadn’t realised how close they were- he speaks up.

“...I guess.”

“Then, what is  _ your _ wish, Kurusu?”

He pauses. Akechi holds his breath and prays that his question didn’t startle him enough for him to pull away.

He doesn’t. He doesn’t move at all actually, his shoulders freeze as he considers his words. Akechi isn’t sure who slid closer to the other the most, he isn’t sure if his cup of coffee is entirely empty or if he’d be able to lift it towards his mouth one last time. What he knows is that, even if he wanted to, he couldn’t possibly move either. Their arms are brushing against the others’, their fingers would so easily slip in between each other, as if it was the next planned step of their conversation. Akechi has to remind himself hard that they’re not in summer when kisses come and go easily. They’re not in fall when holding each other close, grabbing hands and not letting go is an option.

They’re in winter, and everything that they’ve known has just changed in the span of a second. A vast world became small and suffocating because of someone’s doing, because someone or something thought that the next sensible thing to do was to offer unwanted freedom and walking corpses as a belated Christmas gift.

No matter how long he waits for Kurusu’s reply, it doesn’t seem to come. He doesn’t appear to be any close to answer his question, as he’s staring at him more and more, drowning gray eyes into wine. Their gazes lock, only slightly shifting to match the other’s eyes, never looking away. Like a dance, like a waltz, like a competition or a staring contest. Akechi’s heart sits heavy in his chest, taking in Joker’s pointed silence and the implications behind it. It’s not like he didn’t know, he knew.

He’s dead. He is one of those people that has been brought to life. The Niijimas wished for their father back, so did Haru Okumura. A dead man’s wish isn’t of importance here, what counts is the people, living and breathing, warm and hopeful. This foolish group of people who are kind, optimistic, waiting for a better tomorrow. Akechi is fully expecting to close his eyes and never wake up again. He has been now for the past three years.

As he reaches out for Akira’ hand, he thinks they both know whose wish came true here.

* * *

His eyes flutter awake with the sound of exchanged pleasantries and careless whispers. His shoulders are killing him as he mindlessly tries to shake a weight off his arm. It clings to him even more, he can barely move around. He hears his neck crack with a deaf noise as he turns to look at what’s holding him down. The light blinds him for a good second before he can finally study his surroundings.

Leblanc. Right.

Looking down on his right shoulder, drowning in cold sunlight is Joker, eyes closed shut and sleeping soundly. Glasses askew, messy hair and wrinkled clothes. It’s hard to see him in this state, when it’s daytime, when customers are behind them, when coffee somehow smells even better than last night. Distressing to bear him in his field of view, sometimes just the thought of Kurusu might give him a heart attack.

Akechi tears his gaze away, greeting Sojiro with the most honeyed voice he can manage.

“Good morning sleepy-head. Didn't think I’d see you two there when I woke up this morning,” says a friendly voice from his left. He glances at the man who’s smiling at him kindly. It takes him two whole seconds to remember that this man, with the physique of a celebrity he’s met once or twice, is a  _ cat _ . Morgana. Morgana is a human.

Right, right. 

He had hoped it was a bad dream, that whatever had transpired was only a figment of his imagination, knowing how creative his mind can be to haunt its own self. But it isn’t. And he doesn’t need to look at his phone, to hurt himself even more, to  _ know _ that Shido’s messages won’t miraculously appear under his eyes. There truly is no proof of the pain he’s gone through for her, these past three years. Nothing. He has nothing.

He really should have remembered that the second he woke up, since he clearly shouldn’t have. Next to him, abandoned towards his side of the counter, Joker’s phone lights up briefly. Akechi groggily reaches for it, curious to see the time. However, what his eyes land upon isn’t the time, but a fresh notification. From Yoshizawa, no less.

_ “Senpai! What do you say to accompanying me to Meiji Shrine this afternoon?” _

Previous notifications show some missed calls from her, too. She must have planned to ask him out verbally. 

Well, he is no Joker but he sure is her senpai. And as her senpai, his answer is to sneakily delete all notifications coming from her. No need for more discomfort to come their way, now.

“So, are you planning on going?” Sojiro asks with his warm gruff tone, which makes Akechi jump a bit. He peeks at him from behind his fringe and is relieved to see that he is rightfully minding his own business, taking care of grinding even more coffee, even though he’d be willing to bet his life on how few customers will show up today, of all days.

“Where?” He replies as he quietly turns off Joker’s phone. He straightens himself up, stretching his limbs as far as the  _ other  _ sleepy-head lets him. Kurusu squeezes his arm firmly, and Akechi suspects he is just as awake as him. He wouldn’t put it past him to take advantage of the situation. He smirks, then brusquely elbows him in the cheek. He only squeezes harder.

Idiot.

“Meiji Shrine. To pray for the New Year.”

Joker shrugs childishly, still acting as if he was sleeping like a log. Akechi resists the urge to scoff. Praying. He has better things to do than  _ praying _ . Including but not limited to killing every corpse that’s been brought to life to bring a sense of balance in this sick world. And learn how to turn a human into a cat. That should do, this would take at least the whole day. That will surely kill him. Praying won’t.

...Or maybe it could. Is imploring a God to kill him going to be enough? Hasn’t Joker mentioned that he had killed a God? 

If the only thing that took a God to be defeated was a high school delinquent, Akechi might just finish the job himself and start looking for a gun.

“Why? Are you going, Sakura-san?” He wonders politely. He manages to wriggle his arm out of Joker’s grip, forcing him to prop himself up thanks to the counter. Sojiro rumbles in a soft laughter that wraps the whole coffee shop into a warm embrace.

“Oh kid, you can call me Boss.” He won’t. “But no, not me. Futaba will probably go, though.”

“She will? I didn’t think Futaba-chan would be the type to wake up early and go pray.”

Sojiro interrupts the task he was in the middle of to turn himself towards the both of them. Joker eyes him from where he sits, hiding himself in his usual slouch.

“She was a bit hard to convince at first but, since her mom helped her pick a Yukata, she’s been all over the place,” he sighs in both an exasperated and fond way. Akechi and Joker blink silently.

“Her… mother?” Akechi repeats afterwards.

“Yes. She  _ had  _ been a bit busy lately but she went out of her way to go shopping with her.”

His legs immediately want to rush to the bathroom and force him to regurgitate all the coffee he drank last night. Futaba’s mother. He raises his chin in what he knows is a snobbish way, only to keep the bile acid  _ inside _ of his body, safely buried under his tongue. He tries to gulp it down and breathe. He doesn’t trust himself to say a word and it's a quiet and silent Joker who opens his mouth in his stead.

“Wakaba Isshiki?”

Sojiro raises an eyebrow, scrutinizing each of them.

“Well, that’s the only mother she has. What’s gotten into you two?”

Joker’s usual tan complexion gets slowly drained from all color and Akechi is sure he’s looking as livid as him.

This morning, everything was still fine, they haven’t yet completely understood the consequences of this new reality. They haven’t met or talked to anyone who has experienced the changes right in the core of their life. This morning they were only two teenagers conspiring against whatever is controlling reality, drinking coffee and shamelessly implying the unthinkable.

Wakaba Isshiki. The first person he’s ever…

Futaba Sakura is now Futaba  _ Isshiki _ .

Screw this.

With shaking fingers, he seizes Joker’s forearm, takes both of their phones and pulls him out of Leblanc without a single word. He doesn’t complain and follows him obediently to the laundromat a few steps away.

He thought being alive again, by Joker’s side, was some kind of unexpected and twisted sort of luck that went his way. He thought that for once in those past eleven years, he could take it easy, even though it would inescapably bring him to his imminent death. He got handed more time on his hands than he’d expected. Why wouldn’t he be thankful, albeit skeptical?

Turns out fate is sick in the head, whoever’s the culprit behind all of this is someone enjoying his suffering and there is absolutely no way he could stand this reality without fighting it off every second he lives. This is wrong, this feels wrong and is irrepressibly wrong. Unfair, unjust, sickening. Disgusting. He has to punch a fucking washing machine to not bend over and throw up. He inhales gravely and looks up at him.

Akira’s wish or not, he won’t stay here one second more without tearing this reality apart, bit by bit if he needs to.

“Let’s make a deal.”

Joker would never refuse him.


End file.
